so annoy his superiors that he frequently escaped much censure, for few
senior officers are willing to display a loss of temper in front of the
men, as it makes for a loss of dignity. One day Jerry found a sentry
asleep at his post while he was on "visiting rounds" as officer of the
guard. All Jerry did was to drawl out: "Next time you go to sleep, my
lad, you'll wake up in hell!" As a matter of fact, he was too
good-natured to have a man punished, and as the boys realized this,
they would not let any one take advantage of him. We did not think
there was anything that Jerry could do properly until the first concert.

These concerts were weekly affairs, and we had three artists who were
equal to the best. Tom Dawson, the Tivoli comedian, who was afterward
killed in France, was one of us and always willing to provide half a
dozen songs, with his india-rubber face stretched to suit each part.
He was a prime favorite. Then we had an operatic tenor who could sing
a solo from almost any Italian opera, but his talent was not
appreciated--some one would be bound to call "Pretty Joey!" in the
middle of his most impassioned passages. He got plenty of applause
when he sang about "the end of a perfect day," even though the day had
been as beastly as a severe storm could make it for a thousand-odd men
cooped up so closely that only a third of them could see the sky at one
time. His efforts to educate our musical taste completely failed, for
the announcement that he was going to sing in Italian always raised
cries of "Steaka-de-oyst!" "Fiji banana!" etc.

Another real artist played the mandolin, and when he appeared with it
first of all he was greeted with cries of "Gertie!" As he played,
however, he held the boys spellbound and never after failed to get an
encore, though many still held that a mandolin was only a "sissy"
instrument. But the star performer, to every one's surprise, was